The Land (23 page)

Luke Sawyer studied me in the dim light. “Equal partnership, eh?” he asked, and his wording was not lost on either of us. “What about my customers? Remember, you wouldn't be getting any orders for furniture if folks didn't come to me. They trust me, and I'd have to be standing behind your workmanship. That's a lot on me.”

I nodded. “I appreciate that, and I believe that as long as I make quality pieces, there'll be satisfied customers who'll let other folks know about pieces they can order through your store. I think that fifty percent would be profitable for each of us.”

“Um . . .” murmured Luke Sawyer, thinking that over. “Maybe even more profitable for you, if you start taking on customers that come direct to you without bothering to come through me.”

“If you're concerned about that, Mister Sawyer, I can tell you right now that as long as we have an arrangement, I'll take only customers who come through you. I'd figure, though, to set my own hours.”

“Set your own hours? How do I know then that my orders'll be done when I figure they ought to be?”

“They'll be done, and on time.”

“Well, if they're not, I'll charge you on them. Five percent of what's coming to you for each day the work's not done.”

I agreed to that, but added, “Of course, I'll need to know beforehand what the piece is and have a say in the time it's going to take me to make it.”

“Long as it's reasonable. Don't forget, I know about how long it takes on a piece.”

Again, I agreed.

“So, set your own hours, consult with you before I make my deals, what else you want?” Luke Sawyer asked dryly.

“Nothing,” I said. “But there is something you need to know. I'm looking to buy land and once I do, I'll be working it. If it's agreeable to you, I'd contract to work with you for a year.”

Luke Sawyer stared at me in silence, and I didn't know what he was thinking in that quiet moment. Then he laughed, outright and loud. “Thought I was supposed to be the businessman here! All right, then, Paul Logan,” he said. “We'll try it this way for a spell, but I tell you one thing right now. I start losing money or you don't live up to your end of things, then this deal's off. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” I said.

“I s'pose I owe you some money, then.” The look on Luke Sawyer's face was solemn as he gave me my money, but then he extended his hand to me and I shook it, and I remembered that, for he was the first white man to shake my hand since I had left my daddy's land.

 

About two months after I started working with Luke Sawyer, Mitchell showed up late one Saturday evening. I had already quit my tools and settled down to my reading when he knocked on the shed door. As we had said we would, we had both sent word about our safe arrivals, but we hadn't been in contact further. Course, I'd known he'd come eventually, but his sudden appearance gave me quite a surprise. “I must say, it's about time you showed up,” I said. “I've been thinking about coming to look for you.”

“Good to see you too,” said Mitchell. “First time I've had to get away.”

“So, where're you working? Still at that camp I sent word to?”

“Naw . . . was. Got a job there few days after we split up, but I've moved on to another camp now. Place called Mud Creek.”

I had heard of the camp. “What happened?” I said. “Why'd you leave the first camp?”

“Same as usual. Folks just don't seem t' want t' get along with me for some reason.”

“Another fight?”

“Wouldn't call it a fight,” grumbled Mitchell. “It was over with in less'n a minute. Fella couldn't even hardly make a fist. But then he went and made such a fuss, I figured it was best I find me another place.”

I tried to hide my smile. “What was the fuss about? His woman?”

Mitchell looked at me. “What else?” He suddenly laughed, and I laughed too. It was good to be with him again.

I hadn't cooked much for my own supper, just some collards and onions with a bit of ham hock, but I had some potatoes in store, as well as a side piece of bacon and some eggs, and I happily cooked them up in celebration of Mitchell's arrival. Mitchell cooked up some poor corn bread too, and we sat down at my cleared workbench and ate hungrily, as if we had before us one of my daddy's Christmas feasts.

“So, you're working just a half day away from here?” I said.

Mitchell was concentrating on eating, and he only nodded.

“Things okay with you there?”

Mitchell glanced across at me, swallowed, then took a gulp of his milk. “You got reason t' think they wouldn't be?”

“It's just that last time I saw you, we had those Mississippi lumbermen after us, as well as that band of men looking for chicken thieves.”

Mitchell smiled. “Well, I 'spect they still lookin'.” I smiled too, and Mitchell added, “Ain't heard no more 'bout 'em, and ain't lookin' to hear no more 'bout 'em. My job ain't bad. Pay's 'bout the same. Boss man 'bout the same like the rest I known. Ain't nothin' much different, 'ceptin' I ain't got nobody watchin' my back.” Mitchell looked pointedly at me, and I understood. I felt the same. Thing was, though, I was in a different situation now and not having to worry about a camp full of men turning on me. I was feeling like instead of watching over my shoulder, I was looking ahead. “Look like you makin' out all right,” Mitchell observed, glancing around at an unfinished table and a cabinet that took up a corner of the room.

“For now,” I said.

“So, what kind of deal you work out with Luke Sawyer?”

“Worked out a fifty-fifty partnership with him. He lets me use his tools, his shed, and his lumber, and I make the furniture his customers want.”

“You could've done it on your own, Paul. You ain't needed no white man. Yo' work good 'nough on its own self.”

“Wasn't interested in putting what money I got into all the tools I'd need for making furniture. What I was interested in was someone to put up the tools for me and I could still be my own boss.”

“Yeah . . .” murmured Mitchell, “less this here Luke Sawyer see different.”

I shrugged. “It's only for a short while anyway. You forgotten what I really want?”

“How I'm gonna forget? You been talkin' 'bout the same ole thing ever since we left outa East Texas.”

I grinned wide. “Well, I found it.”

“Land?”

“Land. Same day we went our separate ways, I found it. I walked late that night and I was so tired, I didn't give any thought to where I was. I saw what looked to be a safe place on a hillside and I just put down my head and went to sleep. But come the next morning, I woke to an amazement. Mitchell, I was sitting on the most beautiful spot of land I've ever seen. I can't even begin to describe it to you, because words don't hardly fit, but it had meadows and a virgin forest, and a pond too. When I saw it, I couldn't believe it. I got up and walked all around the place. I can't explain it, but that land just drew me to it, like I belonged there. Mitchell, it felt like home.”

Mitchell studied me across the workbench. “So, what you do 'bout it?”

“What do you think? Went to see if I could buy it.”

Mitchell scoffed. “From a white man?”

“What makes you think a white man owned it?”

Now Mitchell laughed. “'Cause a black man couldn't afford land good as you describin'!”

I let Mitchell finish with his laughter, then said, “There's something about that land, Mitchell. I mean to have it.”

“The man willin' t' sell?”

“Said he wasn't . . . not right now anyway. But I figure I can wait.”

“Wait how long? A year? Ten? Waitin' on a white man t' let loose of his gold ain't what I call right smart.”

“Well, maybe not,” I conceded, “but I'm thinking on maybe buying some other land and working it while I'm doing my waiting.”

“And what 'bout your woodworkin'?”

“Never intended to make a lifetime of it. You know that. I told Luke Sawyer the same when I struck my bargain with him. It's land I want, not a carpentry shop.”

Mitchell nodded. “So when you 'spect t' get this other land?” “Well, one thing I promised Luke Sawyer was a year's work with him. I'll need to live up to that, so I'll wait awhile.”

“This Luke Sawyer, he a fair man?”

“Seems to be.”

“Don't count on it.”

Mitchell again gave me that pointed look, and I understood. After all, Luke Sawyer was a white man, and even if he had been a man of color, there wouldn't have been much trust as far as Mitchell and I were concerned. The two of us had learned long ago to trust only each other. “I get a piece of land,” I said, “you're welcome to come in on it with me.”

Mitchell laughed again. “Told you before, Paul, I ain't wantin' t' be no farmer. “'Sides, a man get hisself some land, he must be figurin' t' settle, get hisself a wife and younguns and tied down.” He shot a quzzical look at me. “You found yourself somebody?”

I shook my head. “Been too busy to look.”

“Seem, though, you given thought to it.”

“Won't deny that,” I admitted. “I figure it's time I settled.”

“What you doin' wit' your free time? You seeing any young ladies?”

“You know I don't have time to court.”

“Well, anybody courting you?”

I smiled.

“So—who is she?” demanded Mitchell.

“Well, there've been one or two young ladies who've invited me to supper.”

“Least that's something,” said Mitchell. “You go?”

“Too busy.”

Mitchell grunted.

“But what about you?” I asked. “I know you must be seeing somebody. You always are.”

“Yeah . . . but they all just the same to me. Course, I did meet myself a couple of real nice girls, pretty too, a week or so back. They come to the camp with their mama, but I ain't tried to court 'em or nothin'.”

“Why not?”

Mitchell eyed me as if I should already know the answer to that. “'Cause nice girls, they always be 'spectin' you to settle, and you know that ain't me. I don't intend t' settle.”

“Never?”

“Yeah . . . when I'm dead.”

Mitchell stayed the night in the shed, and we talked through most of it. Next morning, right after breakfast, Mitchell headed back to the camp so he could reach it early enough to see one of the camp women who'd taken a liking to him. Once Mitchell had gone on the road, I started back to work. I had long ago given up the notion of the Sabbath as a day without toil. Even though I read my Bible, I didn't attend church. The store was locked and quiet on a Sunday. Luke Sawyer's house, on the same piece of land, was just as quiet, for Luke Sawyer and his family were all-day Christians and spent most of the day in the white church across town. I had no one calling me, no one demanding my time. For me, Sunday was a good day to work.

 

“So, you been holding out on me, huh?”

I looked up in surprise from my workbench to find Luke Sawyer standing in the doorway. It was late on a Monday afternoon and Luke Sawyer was dressed in the long white butcher's apron he often wore during store hours and, as usual, that made his already large frame appear more threatening. I felt caught off guard and I grew tense at the tone of his voice. “What?” I said.

Luke Sawyer waved a letter toward me and stepped into the shed. “You know what this is? A letter all about you!”

I put aside the piece of pine I'd been planing and rose slowly, readying to defend myself against whatever accusations he was about to make.

“That's right! It's all here!” Luke Sawyer held up the letter for emphasis as he stood opposite me. “Why didn't you tell me you knew about horses?”

“What?” I said again.

“This letter here is from Miz Hattie Crenshaw. I wrote her about you when you first came—I like to know who I'm dealing with. Seems she's been away and didn't get my letter 'til recently. But anyway, I just now got this letter from her and she tells me you not only know carpentry, but you're about the best horseman she's ever seen! She says you can ride the best there is, and you can train them too. Even the wild ones!”

I turned to get a chisel from one of the shelves. I didn't want Luke Sawyer to see the look of relief I was sure showed on my face. “How is Miz Crenshaw?” I asked.

“She's fine, fine.”

“I'm glad to hear that.”

“Well, what about it?”

I turned back to him with the chisel in hand.

“What about the horses?” he went on excitedly. “About what she said? You that good?”

“I've done quite a bit of work with horses,” I admitted.

“Miz Crenshaw says when you worked for her, you were so good, she loaned you out to some of her neighbors who needed help with some of their finer horses. Says you even raced for her and some others, and every race you rode, you won! I think you're being too modest, Paul.”

I smiled slightly. “Well, I've always loved horses.” I sat back down on the bench and again took up the pine.

“So, how come I had to hear all this from Miz Hattie? How come you didn't tell me yourself?”

I looked up at him. “I came to you about making furniture, not riding horses.”

Luke Sawyer studied me, then said, “Come with me.” At that, he turned brusquely and left the shed. He expected me to follow and I did. He led me behind his store past a stable, where he boarded horses and kept some for hire as well, then down a trail through woodland to an open pasture. A corral was at the far end of the pasture and a herd of horses was penned inside. We crossed to the corral, then Luke Sawyer leaned against the gate and motioned toward the horses. “So, what do you think?” he asked.